


A Street Car Called Disaster

by ladyknightanka



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mild Language, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-22
Updated: 2011-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-26 10:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyknightanka/pseuds/ladyknightanka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To win a brash racer's employment, Harvey agrees to drive for a dangerous street race. Mike is put off by the idea because of the connection to his parents' death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Street Car Called Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> Written for one of the many memes I do on my journal. Originally posted [here](http://ladyknightanka.livejournal.com/19603.html). Enjoy! ♥

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A Street Car Called Disaster

-

Harvey struts into Pearson Hardman with a special swagger to his step. Associates move aside to watch after him in awe, and even the senior partners stare. Louis merely sneers when Harvey passes by, but he's _Louis_ , so Harvey pays him no mind. Jessica, however, isn't nearly so passive.

“Harvey Specter, what have you done now?” she asks warily, her arms crossed over her chest in a no nonsense way. This is the pose that made the Harvey of years past, the Harvey of Harvard, squirm like a puppy that had chewed up an expensive shoe, but Harvey's a big dog himself, now, and the Prada leather is on the other foot.

“You know how you sent Louis–” He scoffs the older man's name, selectively blind to how Jessica's eyes narrow, “–to charm Brynner Achen into our services? And how he's repeatedly failed for the last few weeks? Well, I decided to give it another shot myself – for the firm’s sake, of course.”

Jessica's eyebrows arch and a smile fights a path to her lips. “He finally said yes?” she inquires, a pleased note in her tone. “It's about time. I was beginning to doubt that you were actually friends.”

It's Harvey's turn to glower. “Jessica, please,” he says, offended. “You know as well as I that friendship has nothing to do with business. Brynner is a blast to share a drink with now and then, but would I hire him as my personal driver based on that alone?” She shakes her head, tolerant more than genuinely acquiescent, then begins to frown again when he continues, “Besides, I haven't won him yet.”

“What have you done?” Jessica asks again, no longer fond in her exasperation.

Harvey throws up his arms in a gesture of armistice. “I simply gained us the chance to a fair-running, since he'd thus excluded us due to our 'bro' status. It took some...convincing, though.”

Jessica scrutinizes him. He doesn't back down. After a moment, she sighs. “Do I want to know?”

“Better if you don't,” Harvey replies easily. She nods and shoos him off, probably to nurse a stiff drink. He has that affect on people, he's found.

Donna meets him at the cove of his office and beams. She already knows, but she's Donna, so she was obviously the first. “Kick ass, Harvey,” she says.

“I always do.” He grins back at her, then looks around. “Did Mike come up to drop off the Stinson files yet?” When she shakes her head, his smile grows. “Good. I have a feeling the kid'll be psyched.”

“And prattle facts at you, no doubt,” Donna agrees. Mike has, however, endeared himself to the two of them, whether they choose to admit it or not, and they don't mind his quirks. He also has the curious habit of appearing the second he's mentioned.

“Guess who _pwned_ Stinson's counsel like your mother-in-law's gaudy jewelry? _Me_ ,” Mike exclaims, raising his arms up high, files clenched in his victorious fists. “I'm awesome,” he adds, and Harvey lets him have this one, since he has been getting better at bragging. Minutely.

The older man smirks. “Maybe so, rookie, but the Padawan hasn't defeated the master yet. Guess who _I_ hooked.” It's not a question. He holds up Brynner's grand prix flag, which had been posed on his desk as a symbol of triumph, and Mike's eyes go round – well, rounder.

“Brynner the winner Achen? The world grand prix champion? The real life _Speed Racer_? No way!” Mike says, rocking back and forth on the heels of his cheap shoes. Harvey thinks part of his excitement has to do with the _Star Wars_ reference, too, since Mike lives for those, but he's amused by it all the same.

“No, Mike, the other Brynner,” he teases. Mike is too exuberant to care.

“You're so epic, Harvey,” the young associate declares, his big blue eyes bright with admiration. “You're the most badass lawyer _ever_.”

Donna snorts and returns to her desk. Harvey, meanwhile, allows his chest to swell with pride. This is why, after Donna and Jessica, Mike is always next to know. “Calm down, rookie,” he says despite that, before Mike can spontaneously combust. “I said I hooked him. I still have to reel him in. Brynner's a man of action, not talk, and he wants to see _me_ in action.” He's not sure what it is about his words that makes Mike wilt, but he doesn't like it and hurriedly amends, “Don't fret, it'll be easy.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mike murmurs, still smiling although his initial fervor has waned. “Is he going to sit in on one of your court cases? He can't when we meet up with Stinson; there are privacy laws against outside parties attending non-court discussions.”

“Actually...” Harvey tries to keep a straight face and can't quite succeed. Mike's expression grows even wearier, “Brynner doesn't give a damn about law. Driving's his life and he recently joined a street racing competition, to pass the time while Formula One is off season. He wants me to attend this weekend's race – to _participate_ – and if I kick his ass the way I always do in poker, hook, line and sinker.”

He expects Mike to do something charmingly stupid, to hop around like a hyper bunny or try to coax Harvey into bumping his fist again. Instead, the kid's already fair skin blanches to a deathly gray. His similarly white-knuckled hands find a chair to grab onto, as if he doesn't think he can keep standing on his own. “T-that can't be legal,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“Says the kid without a law degree,” Harvey replies, mostly to lighten the mood, but Mike still looks like he's about to chuck _Redbull_ all over the pricey carpet. Harvey takes a calculated step back and inquires, “Are you all right?”

Mike nods, barely perceptible. It's with a louder voice, however, that he pleads, “Don't do this, Harvey, _please_. This year alone, at least five hundred racers died or were severely wounded, and that's just in reported cases of official races. Do you know how many people just up and disappear after one of these street rounds?”

Before Mike can relate to him the exact amount, Harvey snaps, “I'm Harvey Specter. I could never disappear.”

For a long moment, there's silence. Mike stares at him with his huge, unreadable eyes, and Harvey catches Donna frowning behind his associate's shoulder, from her own desk. Finally, Mike says, “Then you'll get a death certificate and a funeral, but dead is still dead.” He's not emotional and that makes this so much more surreal. In fact, he's terrifyingly calm, his words another fact to state. He stumbles out without waiting for a counter, which throws a wrench into their comfortable banter.

“What's wrong with him?” Harvey wonders aloud. Donna shrugs in answer, looking as worried as he feels and cannot admit.

But, because she's Donna, she has a solution for him by the next morning, which isn't the best morning, anyway, with Mike avoiding him. “It's his parents,” she says, the twist of her glossed lips sad. “They were killed in a car accident, remember? It must be hard for him to contemplate losing someone else that way.” Losing _you_ , she doesn't have to clarify.

Harvey scowls into the cup of coffee he holds, unsure how to react, the murky liquid offering no advice. On the one hand, it's probably a perfectly acceptable response, but on the other, he's not sure whether he should perpetuate the unhealthy attachment to him that Mike has. He solves this the only way he knows how: by creating an emotional distance. For the remainder of the week, Mike is assigned to Louis's tender care, while Harvey ignores Donna's death glares and the kid's hurt glances with an obliviousness even a child wouldn't have. The weekend arrives and Saturday rushes to reach its haunting hour.

Soon, Harvey is in a secluded backstreet, lost in an ocean of men who've probably done jail time, and the skimpily dressed women who accompany them. For once, Donna's fiery hair is hard to find, but she comes up to him herself and says, “Be careful, Harvey, if not for yourself, then for Mike's sake. He'd be heartbroken if you so much as broke a nail.”

“I know,” Harvey sighs. Before he can regret his decision, a hand falls on his shoulder and he finds Brynner behind him, grinning. He's an inch or so shorter than Harvey, but burlier, with a buzz-cut of blond hair that's lighter than Mike's, and envy green eyes.

“Nice outfit, Specter,” he says of Harvey's casual attire, a white muscle shirt and jeans that René had actually prepared for the occasion. He'd insisted it was _très parfaite_ , although Harvey's not sure what to make of it himself. “I can see that the pretty lady appreciates it, but the road? Not sure how it'll go, mate.”

“Enough for you to choke on my dust,” Harvey snarks back, straightening the broad line of his shoulders.

Brynner smacks a large hand against his bicep and informs him, “Race's starting in ten. We'll see, mate.”

“Yes, we will,” Harvey replies. He waves at Donna, noticing distractedly that she immediately starts talking to another person, but he forgets about her when Brynner leads him to his ride for the night: a sweet red Mitsubishi Eclipse that he had picked out earlier for himself, a gift from the car club. He already knows that she will purr like a tigress beneath his expert hands.

“Get ready,” Brynner says, inciting Harvey to slip in. It's not long after that when _get set_ and _go_ are thrown into the mix. Wheels screech against pavement and Harvey can almost smell the burning rubber, the disintegrating petroleum, that will follow. He anticipates it with longing.

The adrenaline coursing though his veins upon the Eclipse's first lurch forward is enough to forget, at least temporarily, and he knows his choice of vehicle was correct because, even with a mere push of the gas pedal, he's already ahead of a third of his competitors.

One of them attempts to slam into him, propelling Harvey to swerve his steering wheel sharply to the left. He almost hits the side wall of concrete there, but maneuvers to safety at the last minute and shoots his assailant an icy smirk. With a shift of his gears, he leaves the man behind.

It doesn't take long for him and Brynner to get neck and neck. His friend had used his vehicle's storage of nitrous oxide to gain a dramatic lead, but another driver had taken a shortcut forward and obstructed him, so his supply was almost out, though he avenged himself and his premature decision by decimating the rival racer in a glorious explosion. This had, however, given Harvey ample opportunity to catch up.

“Missed ya, mate,” Brynner tells him, rolling down a window and puckering his lips facetiously.

Harvey ignores the mocking and is the first to narrowly duck into the low-hanging tunnel ahead of them. He almost physically feels it, one with the Eclipse, when a booby-trap of Brynner's surges out and grabs his wheels. The other driver tries to veer in front of him, his guffaws dancing on the wind, and though he's a little unsure about the workings of the chemical, though he wishes Mike wasn't mad at him so he could have asked the kid about it beforehand, Harvey decides he has to take the risk. He employs his nitrous oxide with a flip of a switch and immediately rips forward, wind tearing at his skin in a way that would be classically comedic, had it been happening to someone else – perhaps Louis, with his amusingly flabby chipmunk cheeks.

Harvey worries vomit will force its way out of his mouth – or, worse, that his strained heart and lungs will tear out of his ribcage – but he's Harvey Specter and that's unacceptable. He does the only thing that isn't in this particular situation: he bullets past the finish line and welcomes raucous cheers.

The crowd swells around him, but the solitary arms that lock around his neck feel almost familiar. “Oh God,” Mike's voice mumbles into his shoulder, his hair pressed into Harvey's face, the scent of his shampoo as unobtrusive as most men's, yet calming. If only Harvey wasn't choking on it. “When that one car exploded, I thought for sure it was you. Fuck, Harvey, _fuck_! I was so scared, man,” he rambles.

If he didn't recall what Donna had earlier informed him of, about his associate's late parents, Harvey might have pushed Mike away. Instead, he brings a hand up to awkwardly pat the kid's back. “Could you release me sometime today, Mike? Amazing as I am, I _do_ need to breathe.”

Mike springs away like Harvey has actually burned him, his face flushed with heat, and mumbles, “Oh, sorry, um,” articulate as ever.

“It's fine,” Harvey replies quietly. “I suppose I'm sorry for making you cry, too.” Mike gets even redder, but before he can object to the exaggeration, Harvey plows on, “At least I crossed high risk racing off my bucket list. No need to ever repeat this performance.”

“Aww,” someone interjects. Both lawyers turn to find Brynner, who is sulking as much as a grown bear of a man can. “That was wicked, though, Harv. Sure ya don't wanna try it again? I can pull some strings. Formula One too soon?”

A part of Harvey is allured. After all, _Formula One_. However, he takes one look at the anxiety gleaming in Mike's eyes, visible even in the twilight of dwindling midnight, and shakes his head. “This way, I can keep my winning streak. Don't want to tempt fate,” he answers dryly.

Mike smiles and Brynner huffs, then grows distracted when Donna finally manages to elbow through the crowd to congratulate her boss. “Would'ja be interested in soothing a poor soul's broken heart, pretty miss?”

“I'd be willing to break something else?” she offers cheerily, a dangerous smirk cocking her lips. Nonetheless, upon meeting Harvey's gaze, she nods once and flounces off, Brynner trailing behind her with an eager grin. Harvey pities him. He also pities his wallet, which will miss his friend's retaining fees and the horrible poker skills that had thus earned him quite a bit of loose change. Donna will chew Brynner up to a mere husk of his former self. Oh, well.

“I, uh,” Mike begins to say, shuffling from foot to sneakered foot. The fumbling draws Harvey's attention back to him. “I was only really worried because, if you died, I'd be stuck under Louis _forever_. These last few days were hell.”

Harvey tuts in reproach. “Rookie, rookie, rookie, what did I tell you about overambitious Padawans? Don't even bother lying to me.” Mike ducks his head and Harvey wonders if his puppy's ears will actually steam from embarrassment, like a cartoon character from one of his ludicrous morning shows. He settles an arm around the younger man's shoulders with beneficent grace. “C'mon, kid. I'll buy you dinner for the effort, but mostly to celebrate my victory. Because I rock.”

He bumps sides with Mike, who laughs and begrudgingly admits, “You do rock pretty hard,” allowing his boss to steer him away. In a few hours, when it's even later and more intimidating out, Harvey will call one of the other associates to come take his rental car back to the club. First, he intends to thoroughly enjoy his dinner.

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The End!

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End file.
